Everything We Have Is Borrowed
by sliceofperfection
Summary: In the aftermath of the plane crash in Great Paxford, the whole community comes together to help the survivors and those who've been lost during this horrific tragedy. But some will find rebuilding their lives harder than others. Featuring most characters, but with a special focus on the Brindsley's.


_I spent a weekend marathoning_ Home Fires _, and I absolutely fell in love with the show. More specifically with the Brindsley's. Words cannot describe how much I love those little Welsh babies. Like I can't. My brain turns to mush, and my little fangirl heart goes a flutter._

 _So as you can guess, I was completely wrecked when I learned that S2 was the last for this show, and things ended with absolutely uncertainty for them. And then the wheels in my head started turning, which for a writer, generally means WATCH OUT WORLD A NEW STORY IS COMING. And yeah, this fanfiction was born._

 _I don't know if there are even people still active in this fandom because being in America, I'm late to the table for this show. But even if it's only little, ole me shouting this story into an endless void, I'm fine with that._

 _So if you do happen to stumble upon this little fanfiction, I do hope you will read and offer some constructive criticism. But, if you don't that's cool too. Thanks for stopping by anyway! Much love to all! ~Lynn_

* * *

The first thing Bryn Brindsley noticed when he gasped for air was the sharp pain coursing through his left leg. His eyes fluttered open, arms flailing a bit at his sides, and he saw an uneven ceiling before him. A long tube of silver stretched across the length of his vision, close enough for him to reach up and touch it.

His ears rang painfully, echoing throughout his head. His whole body ached, but he forced air through his lungs, his hands blindly searching for the rest of his body.

He was alive.

Despite the blurred shapes and mismatched colors playing before his eyes, Bryn Brindsley was alive. He tried rolling over to one side, and groaned from the sharpness that radiated across his lower left leg. Black spots appeared before his gaze, and he knew he was injured.

The deafening _thud, thud, thud,_ of his heart fiercely pumping blood, sounded in his ears. Grimacing and groaning, he dragged himself to a half-seated position, and suddenly felt a wall of heat wash over his back.

Whirling his head round, he saw the flames, licking the floral printed hole in the wall that was once part of the Campbell's front room.

"Jesus, Mary, and..." He exclaimed before his lungs felt invaded by the burning smell of the fire. Scrambling to his feet, Bryn stumbled forward and yelled through the crackling flames were slowly devouring the front hall of the Campbell's home, "Miriam!" He landed with his stomach lodged against the metal wing of the plane, the wind escaping his lungs in one fell swoop.

"Argh," He cried out, feeling stranded from the massive structure that impeded a clear and definitive path into the next room.

"Miriam!" Bryn cried out again, this time, the ringing in his ears, dissipating by a popping sensation.

And then he heard the healthy wailing of a baby. _His_ baby. _His_ child that he now shared with Miriam.

His child was alive.

Somehow, Bryn maneuvered around the plane's massive wingspan and through the front corridor that separated the surgery from the rest of the doctor's house.

The entire wall was brought down and reduced to rubble beneath the plane's metal frame and the hungry flames devouring the inside of the house.

He crawled through the gap between plane, and what was once wall, and ceiling. His vision blurring from the black smoke that seemed to be pouring out of this space. It invaded his lungs, and he pulled the collar of his jumper up to prevent himself from suffocating.

As soon as he managed through the tight space, the smog lessened. But the horror he happened upon made him wish he couldn't see as clearly now.

"Miriaam!" He screamed again whenever he saw her crumpled form.

She was rolled over onto one side, her face hidden between her arms that were curled over her head protectively. Her one leg was bend at an unnatural angle, blood seeping through torn flesh. And her other one was pinned beneath an examination table that lay flattened against the floor.

"Oh God Mim!" He yelled again as he rushed toward her, slipping on something wet. A blackish liquid pooled beneath her trembling form.

"Mim," He took hold of her arms, prying them away from her face.

Blood streaked her cheek, and her light brown eyes darkened and glassy. But her arms tremored beneath him, her breath coming in jaggedly before being let out in a rasping cough.

"Mim, oh god," He touched her face, kissed her forehead, his eyes prickling with tears, and his heart surging with relief. "Oh god, Mim, you're alive. You're…"

Her hand clenched his forearm tightly, nails digging into his skin. "Bryn…Bryn…the baby…the baby…" She urged desperately, her eyes scanning the room as she tried shifting, but found herself rooted on the spot.

The crying continued, closer now, but somehow muted over the dull roar of the fire as it continued to gobble up the house.

"Bryn…the baby…our girl…" Miriam pleaded.

"A girl?" He blinked back, feeling his mouth curl at the edges in spite of the present situation.

"Yes. Get her. We have to. We have…"

Yes, he immediately understood, and he visibly nodded. They had to get out. But how? Bryn immediately looked to the table trapping her leg. "Yes, but we need to get you…get you out."

"No Bryn…the baby," She held tightly to him.

"I'll get you both," He nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss at her forehead. "I'll get you both out."

He assessed the situation once more and asked, "Can you feel it, Mim? Your leg?"

"I…I don't know…" She made another racking, wheezing cough.

"Alright," He nodded, crouching down by the end of the table she was trapped beneath. "Mim! If you feel this, I need you to move your leg out! Yes?"

"Yes," She croaked again, her coughing bordering on a sobbing sound.

Gripping underneath it, Bryn lifted with all his might, feeling the muscles in his lower back pull and strain from the weight of it. He could only lift it just off of her leg, "Mim! Now! Move it now!"

Using her hands, Miriam pulled the upper part of her leg towards her body, moaning and crying out as her raw skin scraped across the metal table.

"That's it! That's a girl!" Bryn cried out, dropping it back down once she was in the clear.

But to his horror, her lower leg was nothing more than a bloodied, unidentifiable mess. She couldn't walk out of here without help. And he soon came to realize, neither could his daughter.

"Mim," He went back to her, stroking the side of her head, "you did good, love. You did…"

"Bryn…please…we need…the baby…"

"Alright. Steady now," He reassured, "we need you too."

"No," She protested weakly, but there wasn't much else she could do.

He had already gathered her in his arms and was surveying the room through the tendrils of black smoke that kept seeping in from the half-collapsed wall that lined the corridor. The plane had evenly bisected the front of the house, and the corridor ceiling was collapsing as he had discovered.

Bricks and pieces of wood beams littered the floor. Dust from the interiors guts swirled around with the smoke, the whirlwind a recipe that spelled disaster. He coughed again, his throat burning more harshly, the ache in his lungs that couldn't mean anything good.

And the baby. Their daughter. She wailed on despite this. What this stuff was doing to her tiny lungs…

Bryn propelled into action. With Miriam in his arms, he hobbled over piles of wood, stacks of paper, broken glass, nearing the sounds of despair. It was in the front corner of the room that he found Mrs. Cameron, curled onto the floor, cradling a bundle of blankets.

"Mrs. Cameron! Mrs. Cameron," He knelt down, setting Miriam down, and shook the woman's shoulder.

Miriam, reached for the bundle of blankets in her arms, stroking it weakly.

Suddenly, Mrs. Cameron gasped to life. She coughed for several seconds, breathing in and out, wide eyed. And then it finally registered upon her face, "Mr. Mr. Brind…" She wheezed, the whites of her eyes displaying her shock at being alive.

"No time for that Mrs. Cameron," He eased her into a seated position, half seizing the screaming baby that was completely wrapped up. "We have to get you out of here. Where are the Campbells?"

"I…" Her head rocked from side to side, eyelids fluttering shut. "I don't…know…"

"No, not now Mrs. Cameron," Bryn shook her once more, forcing her to remain alert. "There's no time…" He paused to cough against the smoke that seemed to be spilling into the room at a faster rate.

She seemed to be relatively focused now. "The baby," She muttered, glancing down at the bundle that Miriam was attempting to take from her.

"Yes, we have to…"

"The window," Her eyes moved to the front of the room. She shifted to a crouching position, clutching more tightly to the bundle. "We must get out," She sputtered, through the coughing.

"Yes…can you…if I break it down…can you manage?" Bryn asked.

A new resolve glossed over the woman's face, "Yes I…I think…" She nodded at him determinedly. "Mrs. Brindsley, oh here now…" She noticed Miriam's pale, longing face as she continued to reach for her newborn. Mrs. Cameron pulled her close, the three of them holding fast to one another.

Bryn patted down his front, his jacket was gone, shirt partially intact, the sleeves were shredded. But it would have to do. He began to shrug out of it, while he half stumbled, half crawled to the front window, over broken pieces of wood that stood in front of it. Wrapping the thing fabric around his arm as many times as he could, he punched through the pane of glass.

Immediately, his fist, his arm screamed in protest from the action. But they had little choice. Diamond shaped shards clung to the edges of the frame as he pulled back, and went at it again from a different angle. The white pinstriped shirt grew wet from his blood, but Bryn didn't stop to think about anything else, save getting his family, Mrs. Cameron, and the Campbell's (if they could be located) out of this house.

The sounds of more screams and gasps of shock reached his ears. And then there were voices shouting. He whirled around on the spot, thinking Miriam or the baby were in trouble, but Mrs. Cameron was helping Miriam to her knees, holding fast to the baby as they inched their way towards the front of the window.

Cool, fresh air seeped through the open gaps in the front of the house, but one thing he hadn't accounted for was the fire needed oxygen to survive. With this gush of fresh air, the flames tore through the interior wall. Plaster and wood breaking down, the ceiling bowing along with it.

He rushed back through the debris towards his wife, who was attempting to drag herself with little success. Mrs. Cameron seemed to be alright with the baby in her arms, save for some minor cuts and scrapes.

"I'll get Miriam, you take the baby," Was all Bryn could manage through the roar of the fire, and the groaning of the house as it now threatened to collapse on top of them. "Go, Mrs. Cameron! Go!" He urged as he saw fiery pieces from above fall beside them.

Joyce lumbered through the broken materials as best and quickly as she could while Bryn gathered Miriam in his arms again. Every part of his body throbbed, and his arms were trembled as held onto Mim.

She buried her face into his neck and rasped painfully.

"It's alright Mim," Bryn breathed out, climbing back over piles of bricks. He could see the daylight through the smog that engulfed them. "You're safe now. You're both…"

And with another rush of air from somewhere, Bryn's words were drowned out by the sound of the ceiling giving way from the hungry flames whose appetite couldn't be sated.


End file.
